Vive La France
by Romano.in.disguise
Summary: WW2. France has fallen to Nazi forces, and is now under the control of Germany. The spirit of resistance still rages on in this not yet defeated nation, and he will fight bitterly to be reunited with the ones he loves. Mix of country and human names used All Italics are supposed to be French, i'm just too lazy to translate
1. Prolouge

June 22, 1940

A man kneels in the center of a dark room, hands bound behind his back, military uniform stained red and in shreds, showing bruised skin. Long blonde hair surrounds a once regal face, somehow feminine yet masculine at the same time, now bruised and covered in blood, both fresh and drying. Blue eyes glare at a figure draped in shadows in the corner of the room, anger and defiance raging in their depths. "Jamais." (Never) He hisses, putting every ounce of hatred he can in that one word.

"Jou vill respect mein authority." A heavily accented voice commands, hard with arrogance. A tall man in uniform steps out of the shadows, flanked by two others.

"Big brother France…" A short Italian man with pale skin and amber hair whimpers, taking a hesitant step towards the man on the floor. The blonde shoots him a look so poisonous that the Italian yelps and scurries back, hiding behind the man in front. The one in front, a tall man with slicked back blond hair and ice blue eyes sneers, delivering a sharp kick to the Frenchman's side. The other blonde remained silent even as there was a sharp crack of snapping ribs, not wanting to give the enemy the satisfaction of seeing his pain. An albino with red eyes looked at the figure on the floor, lip curling slightly.

"Bruder he haz surrendered. Zhis iz not how I taught jou to treat people, Germany."

"Shut it Preußen." Germany snapped, shifting his glare to his brother. Prussia merely narrowed his eyes at his brother and resumed facing forward, flicking his head to get a lock of snow white hair out of his eyes. Germany knelt down and grabbed France's chin roughly, forcing him to look into his eyes. "Give it up France. Jou lost. Zhe Third Reich vill rule jou all, und jou vill bow down to me. Jour precious England vill cease to exist." France bit Germany's fingers in response, smirking and spitting out a piece of bloodstained leather as Germany withdrew his hand with a yelp, cradling it against his chest. "Jou little French slut." He growled, slapping France across the face.

"You will regret zis day, Allemagne. I will never submit to you." he spat, trying to struggle to his feet but stumbling.

"Ve vill establish a Vichy government zhat vill be controlled by us, but vhat jour citizens don't know von't hurt zhem. Zhat iz very generous of us so I urge jou to be grateful." he warned, taking a gun out of his pocket and tapping it against his hip threateningly.

"What makes you zink zat I will agree to zis?" France hissed, shaking his head both in defiance and to get his hair out of his eyes. Cerulean clashed with ice, and Germany smirked.

"I don't have to. Paris should fall right about… now." France's eyes went wide and his mouth opened in a wordless scream of agony, writhing around on the floor before going still. France had fallen to Nazi forces.


	2. Chapter 1

Three years later, early May of 1944

Germany sat at his desk, scowling at a large stack of papers. He had been stationed in this godforsaken country for three years, and hated every second unless he was on the front lines. France was an absolute idiot who couldn't follow orders to save his life and had a tendency to "Strike when ze mood strikes moi!". In his opinion France was more trouble than he was worth, and it was a miracle that he had survived all these centuries. Unfortunately his boss thought that France was valuable, so Germany had been residing in his Parisian mansion ever since with the man himself. Knocking was heard on the wooden door, as well as a very distinct laugh. "Ohhhh Germany! Honhonhon open up ze door!" Speak of the devil and the devil shall arrive. Germany hastily threw a sheet over his desk, hiding the classified documents from unwanted eyes.

"Vell don't just stand zhere come in! I don't have all day!" He barked, folding his hands on his desk. The door flew open and France skipped in, completely nude. "Vhat zhe hell France!" Germany yelled, face turning beet red as he noticed the other blonde's state of dress, or rather, undress. France shut the door with the heel of his foot and stood in the middle of the room, placing his hands on his hips but making no attempt to cover himself up.

"Oh _mon amiiiiiii._ " He rolled his eyes, stretching out the i. "Zis iz my 'ouse, I can walk around 'owever I please. Besides, don't my legs look absolutely _magnifique_? I shaved zem, wanna feel?" he offered, swinging a leg up on the desk. Germany flushed an even deeper red if possible and pushed his chair away, shoving the sheet covering his desk to the French nation at the same time.

"Nein jou dummkopf I don't vant to feel jour legs! Use zhis to cover jourself up, i'd rather not see zhat today." he ordered, covering his eyes with his hands. France scoffed but took the sheet, tying a loose toga with practiced ease. While Germany's eyes were covered he grabbed a couple papers that looked important, hiding them in the folds of the fabric.

"I 'ave shielded my beauty from your eyes you can look now." Germany uncovered his eyes, scowling at the Frenchman's antics.

"Now vhat did jou come here for?" Germany asked, glaring at the other European. Francis scratched at his stubble for a minute, trying to remember for what purpose he had come here other than to annoy the German.

"Oh _oui_ I would like some paints, _s'il vous-plaît_." Francis requested, smiling widely to show off a set of blindingly white teeth.

"Und vhy vould I give jou paints? Ve are in a var, in case jou forgot."

" _Parce que_ , ah 'ow do I say zis… I will make your life a living 'ell if you don't." France smirked, batting his eyelashes innocently. He struck a provocative pose and blew a kiss to the German, laughing as he flounced out of the room. Germany groaned and slammed his head into the desk as soon as the flirtatious Frenchman had left, not minding the pain. The sooner the Axis won the war the better, and he could finally get out of the goddamn country along with its equally annoying personification.

Francis walked down the mansion into his private wing, taking off his sheet as he went, folding it over his arm with the papers still concealed in it. He blew a kiss at the guards lining the entrance to his section, smirking as they avoided eye contact and looked aside. Francis Bonnefoy was no idiot, and knew that if he walked around like this, which he had no problem with, they were less likely to ask what he was doing in their haste to get out of there. As soon as he was in his room he put on a camouflaged uniform, tying his hair up haphazardly and stuffing it into a black cap. The nation sat down at his desk, hidden in a secret soundproof office and took out the papers, grinning when he saw what was written on them. They were maps of the Atlantic wall, each squadron of tanks and bunkers marked with a neat x, telling the Frenchman valuable information. Of course he knew where each bunker was on his own land, but knowing where the others were was useful. He noticed where the defenses were thickest on his own land, and noted the distance between England and himself. After copying the map down to the last detail he whistled for his little bird, Pierre, to fly it to England. After the bird was on its way, finding Arthur no matter where he was, France sat back in his chair and thought of his love.

England and France truly loved each other, despite fighting half the time. They had an interesting relationship, with the nations England and France fighting since they knew the other existed, but Arthur Kirkland and Francis Bonnefoy holding a deep love in their hearts. He picked up his private rotary phone and dialed the number of the base he knew England was stationed in, thanks to a fellow member of the French resistance.

His nails tapped against the hardwood of his desk, eyes firmly trained on a picture of him and England tacked onto a mirror that was hanging on the wall in front of him.

"You have reached base Mint Bunny, please state your purpose and the code for this base." A tired sounding voice laced with a horrendous accent droned, nothing like England's own sophisticated East Anglian.

" _Bonjour_ , I would like to speak to Arthur Kirkland, _s'il vous-plaît_." France spoke firmly, studying the map again.

"Listen mate he's in a meeting and you haven't stated your purpose. I need the code or no can do." The voice snapped. "I also need your name."

"My name iz of no concern to you." Francis stated cooly, patience wearing down fast. Did this idiot not understand that making this call was incredibly dangerous, and he could not stay around for idle chit chat. "Put me on ze phone with Arthur Kirkland now." Francis could hear the scraping of a chair in the background, and the man's frustrated growl.

"Listen here Frenchie, Kirkland's in a meeting, and I can't let you talk to him unless you say who you are. Got that, asshat?"

"And you listen 'ere, rosbif. I 'ave crucial information zat 'e needs to know, and I can tell you for a fact zat 'e needs to know eet. Just tell 'im zat ze Frog wants to talk to ze Black Sheep."

"Jesus christ man you've gone insane, i'm not going to deal with this, i'll just hang up- Hello sir!" The phone fell with an audible clang, and France could hear the click of boots, as well as what was going on on the other side.

"What the bloody hell is going on here Johnson?" A familiar, irritated voice asked, and France almost sobbed with relief.

"An insane man got hold of the phone sir, he was blabbing something about Frog wants to talk to the Black Sheep-"

"A WHAT NOW? Give me that phone now!" France heard England shriek, as well as the sounds of a minor scuffle.

"Bonjour mon cher! Comment ça va?" France chirped, almost crying at hearing his love's voice after so long, but needing to disguise it. " _I have wonderful news!"_

"You bloody frog you know I can't speak French." Arthur grumbled, rolling his eyes.

" _Arthur every word I say may be recorded. I have critical information and I know you speak French, I taught you myself. Swallow your pride for once."_ Francis hissed, speaking so low he could barely hear himself, even with his enhanced hearing. One of the perks of being a nation.

" _Ok but just once. This better be good."_ Arthur snapped, kicking the other man out of his desk so he could sit there, twirling the phone cord in his fingers, jade green eyes squeezed shut.

" _So you know the unwelcome visitor who has been staying in my house for the past couple years?"_

" _Yeah?"_

" _Well he's gotten a bit antsy and decided to build a wall around my house. I don't think he likes you that much. But there's a loose board in the wall. Here i've sent Pierre to show you a picture, it's quite pretty."_

There was a tapping on the window and a small white bird flew into the room, depositing the papers on the desk and promptly flying away. Arthur scanned the map, eyes growing wider with each marking he saw.

" _Francis you're a genius. Calais?"_

" _No but we can always throw a little surprise party for Luddy. The wall is also very thick there, so be carefull. Have you heard of how pretty Normandy is at this time of the year? June is beautiful there. New moon, sparkling over the waves of the beaches, ah now that is a sight. Talk to you later my love, it's time for me to scream about paints. Pierre might visit more often, so keep your window open._ Au revoir et je t'aime."

"Je t'aime aussi." the line went blank and the personification of England placed the phone down, shaking his head. He knew that Francis hid under an airheaded blonde act, but getting such valuable information was priceless. God, how he loved that man.


	3. Chapter 2

Francis throws a bitch fit

Germany stomped down the halls of the elaborate mansion, hearing muffled screaming growing clearer and clearer. France had stuck to his word and thrown a huge fit over not getting paints, and was now having an enormous tantrum. "FOR ZHE LOVE OF GOTT JUST SHUT UP!" He bellowed at the French nation, bursting into his office, red faced and with a vein in his forehead dangerously close to popping. "I have jour paint, now shut zhe fick up." He handed over a box of paints to France, who set down the vase he was about to throw. Francis looked through the box, nose wrinkling when he saw the German man's choice in color.

"I don't 'ave any paper." Francis whined, a calculating glint that Ludwig failed to notice in his eyes. Ludwig slammed his head onto the desk and groaned, voice slightly muffled.

"Just take any paper und get out of my sight." Francis nodded, grabbing a stack of forms and orders with rather official looking seals on them. Just as he was about to exit the room, Ludwig spoke up. "Jou are really more trouble zhan jou are vorth, jou know zhat?"

Francis paused with his hand on the doorknob, smirking cruelly even though Germany couldn't see him. "Merci beaucoup, I try." he shut the door behind him and got to work.

~Small time skip~

"VHAT ZHE HELL IZ ZHIS?" Germany screamed, staring with wide eyes at the paper in front of him. Francis had taken the liberty to paint some rather lewd pictures around the borders of the pages, and was now skipping around, looking far too pleased with himself.

"My merveilleux paintings! Do you like eet?" The Frenchman asked, batting his eyelashes.

"Nein! Get zhose avay from my sight! Burn zhem I don't care vhat jou do but don't let mein bruder see!" He yelled with a red face, shoving the papers back at France. "Mein gott, jou are even vorse zhan Italy!" France took the papers and hurried out, laughing to himself. After giving them to Pierre to send, he sat at his desk, awaiting a call from England. The phone rang about five minutes after he had sent the papers and he picked up, grinning.

"Allo?"

" _Francis what the fuck."_

" _Ah so you got the papers."_

" _Yeah and the information is priceless but bloody hell Francis did you really have to draw dicks all over the pages? I can't give that to my boss!"_

" _My dear that was the only way to get those papers. Poor Germany was so embarrassed he begged me to get rid of them. I'll help isolate the region to disrupt communication ok?"_

" _Be careful. I'll get Alfred and Matthew to help in Normandy. Omaha, and Utah are for Alfred, Juno is for Matthew, and Gold as well as Sword are mine."_

" _Matthieu is strong than you realize, that boy will go far, and must Alfred use the names of his states for me? How horrible."_

" _Oh shut it frog. Apologies in advance for all the pain. Francis?"_

" _Yes my dear?"_ Francis asked, about to hang up, he used the paints to disguise his face, and put his long blonde hair up into a cap. He was about to explode a few German information carrying trains to isolate the region where the attack was going to be. It was dangerous work, but the nations were the closest beings to immortal there were, and he did not wish to see his brave citizens die when he could do the job himself. He heard Arthur take a long, quavering breath and Francis had to blink back tears.

" _I love you. Please don't do anything reckless, I couldn't live without you. This blasted war will be over soon, but it will all be worthless if I can't see you again. In case I never hear your voice again, I want you to know that I love you."_

" _I love you more than words can describe, my dear Arthur. Not a single second has passed in all these centuries where I stopped loving you. I shall see your beautiful face soon, don't worry. I love you, Arthur Kirkland, England, Albion, Land of the angles. I always will."_ With that France hung up, eyes watery and blinking away tears as he exited through a secret tunnel that led into the catacombs and out of Paris, heading on his mission.


	4. Chapter 3

Cat goes meow, dog goes woof, and train goes boom

The low blaring horn of a train sounded through the fog, its light seen from a mile away. The trees shook in the wind, rails slick with pelting rain. Figures crouched beside the rails, barely visible in the dark. Guns were slung across their backs, dressed in camouflage and faces streaked with paint and mud. Men scurried onto the tracks, clutching dynamite in their hands. They placed it onto the tracks, hiding it in the edges. " _That's the last of it boys!"_ one declared with satisfaction, pushing up their helmet to wipe their face. The men took a moment to celebrate, clapping each other on the backs. One remained silent, bright sapphire eyes scanning the rails of the track. They retreated to the edge of the forest, out of range of the upcoming explosion.

" _Why the long face, Francis? One would think that you'd be happy to see those damned Nazis meet a fiery death."_ A man commented, uneasy about his silent partner. Francis's eyes widened against his painted face, and he swore.

" _Shit! The angle is wrong!"_ He cried, before sprinting onto the rails, ignoring the calls of the others for him to come back. He replaced the dynamite to another location, working quickly. The blare of the horn and the light of the lamp of the train illuminated him, but he did not pause, placing the explosives into a correct position. " _What are you waiting for!?"_ he screamed at the others, bracing himself. A second before the train was supposed to hit him, he launched himself in the air, the explosion propelling him farther into the air than normal, combined with his enhanced abilities. He landed on the roof of the tipping over train, running along the tilted top before leaping off, landing in a practiced roll. All those centuries of combat training really paid off. The train collapsed off the side of the rails, burning for a minute before finally exploding, sending debris everywhere. Francis dove into a ditch, staying there until he was confident it was safe to run, then sprinting back to the rest of his group.

" _Francis you fucking idiot what were you thinking! How the hell are you still alive?"_ A man yelled as France skidded to a stop in front of them and promptly fell forward onto his knees, breathing heavily.

" _Not… a… problem… when… you… can't… die…"_ He panted, slipping back into Old French, a habit of his when he escaped a near death experience. Of course he couldn't die unless his country did, but it was stressful anyway. He had once annoyed the hell out of Napoleon by shrieking in Old French that Prussia might have stabbed him in the back, quite literally, at one of the battles in the Napoleonic wars, while still having a sword stuck through him and making no attempt whatsoever to remove it. The other men's brows furrowed as Francis began to laugh, standing up and dusting himself off. " _I'm afraid I must go now before a certain German notices that i'm not doing my hair._ Au revoir, mes amis!" He called, running off, leaving a faint scent of roses and lavender behind him.

" _Who are you?"_ they asked, beyond surprised that he could escape alive. He turned back, grinning at his brave citizens who were willing to risk their lives for their country, not knowing that a personification of said country was beside them.

" _I'm France."_ he said with a smile, before disappearing into the trees, in the direction of his heart.

While France was on his mission, England paced the length of the hallway of the base he was stationed at, the sharp click of his boots against tile not doing anything to soothe his nerves. " _Get it the fuck together Arthur, you've been through worse."_ He hissed to himself, trying to calm down. He burst into a meeting room, not caring what he was interrupting. "Get me a map of France in the next five seconds." He demanded, scowling as the men in the room raised their eyebrows. "What? Was I speaking Hindi again?" He asked, genuinely confused. One of the men snickered, sauntering over to the Nation.

"No but just who the hell do you think you are to barge in here and demand stuff?" He drawled in a horrendous southern accent, arrogance lacing his words. Poisonous green eyes glared up at the taller man, making him step back.

"I advise you, you bloody yank, to get me a map within the next five seconds or getting your face severely damaged." He warned in a dangerously low tone. One of the men finally recognized the pissed off nation and got him a map, which he accepted wordlessly, unrolling it and scanning it, tracing Gold and Sword with a finger.

"Hey how the hell do you know about Operation Overlord? That's classified." The previous American soldier demanded, snatching the map away. "A lowly private like you shouldn't even be fit to get into this base."

"Give me back my map of my love or you won't live to see the next sunrise." Arthur snarled, hand creeping to the sword he always kept on his belt. "I'm going to have to have a long chat with Alfred about the arrogance of his idiotic citizens." The soldier sneered and spit at Arthur's feet, and not even a split second had a cutlass pointed at him. "Mortal just who do you think you are?"

"Sir Kirkland please calm down we know you are a bit on edge." An English officer tried to appease the furious nation, while also gesturing behind him for backup. Last time England got mad it was NOT pretty.

"Yo Iggy why the fuck do ya have a sword?" A loud voice broke in, and America sauntered into the room, dressed in his usual fighter pilot uniform, complete with a burger in his gloved hands and an idiotic grin on his face. Everyone in the room instantly snapped into a salute except England, who only shot America an exasperated glare.

"Call me that bloody nickname again and I won't hesitate to stab you. I need you and your brother to go over the plans for Overlord. I'm waiting on a call from France to confirm the isolation of the area."

"On it dude." America responded, dropping the idiot act. "I just returned from sending a little shipment of confetti to Ludwig. Make him think we are attacking in another location and letting our planes fly without detection. Francis should be fine, he's literally survived having his head cut off. Several times, if i'm not mistaken."

England sheathed his sword and glared, starting to pace the room again. "I've chopped his head off personally during our pirate and corsair years I KNOW he can. A word of advice America, never do that. I had him as a talking head for about a week that was bloody terrifying."

America laughed, taking a bite of his burger. "Dude that sounds awesome." He exclaimed around a mouthful of food, wide smile back in place. The phone rang, startling everyone in the room, England lunged for it, but the phone was snatched out of his grasp by the rude American, who smirked and answered it. Before he could get a single word in England punched him, and taking it back while the soldier was bent over, wheezing.

" _Francis? Is that you?"_ He asked hurriedly, talking in French.

" _Arthur? I'm in a secret room in the catacombs, I don't have long to talk. My love it is so nice to hear your voice."_

" _How did it go?"_

" _The train went up in flames, nothing is left. I know that Ludwig is not expecting anything, and the attack can be made in surprise. I'll be in Caen, doing everything I can to help. If I were in Normandy at that time it would be far too suspicious, but I will do my best to disable the bunkers. I must run now, see you in a few days. Please tell my precious Matthieu that I love him, for I cannot right now._ Je t'aime, mon cher Arthur."

"D'accord et je t'aime aussi." The line went blank and Arthur put the phone back on the hook, facing Alfred again. "Can you go fetch your brother? He needs to hear this. I'll need a map of Francis and I, along with a pen." Alfred nodded, running out of the room.

"How the hell do you know French?" A man who Arthur did not know demanded, looking at Arthur with distrust in his eyes.

"I used to rule the bloody world of course I know French." England snapped, taking a map with a curt thank you. He rolled it out on the table in the center, sweeping all other papers to the floor. He took a knife out of his pocket and stabbed the corner into the table, ignoring how half of the people in the room jumped at the sound. His finger traced over his assigned beaches, green glowing wherever his finger landed. He marked a path to Caen, then to Paris.

"What the hell are you doing?" the same man asked, and Arthur paused to glare at him.

"Doth ev'ryone a fav'r and did shut the hell up." England snapped, unaware that he was speaking in an outdated way. "What art thee bloody idiots looking at?" A slight cough sounded from behind England, and he turned around to see Canada, looking incredibly confused.

"Excuse me Arthur… you were speaking Old English again." Arthur sighed, rubbing his temples. Why does his own language have to change so often? He had once told France to 'thee frog don't gallow me liketh yond' and America hadn't let him hear the end of it for three decades.

"Hello Matthew, come look at these plans." he beckoned over the Canadian with one long finger, America on his other side. England traced Juno, highlighting a path to Caen. "This is where Francis is. Our goal is to get there within a week, and from there we can get Francis's help to get to his heart."

"Is papa alright?" Matthew asked, looking at the map with worry in his violet eyes.

"He is doing everything he can to help us without raising any suspicions. He said to tell you that he loves you." A strangled sound escaped Matthew's throat and Alfred instantly wrapped his arms around his brother, expression solemn.

"Mattie. Francis is strong. We'll see him soon, along with the end of this war." America stated firmly, grabbing his brother by his shoulders and looking deep into his eyes. Arthur nodded in agreement, getting up and beginning to pace the room again.

"I'm just so worried about that insufferable frog." He muttered, shaking his head, jade eyes squeezed shut.

America sighed, rolling his eyes. "Jeez mom calm your tits." England whirled around, sputtering in outrage.

"Excuse me?! I'm no one's bloody mum, thank you very much!" He yelled at America, who raised his hands and backed up, smirking. "What the hell do you mean by that last bit?!"

"Jesus dude it's just an expression we use back at my place. So calm your tits Iggy."

"WHAT THE FUCKING HELL DO YOU MEAN BY THAT AMERICA YOU WANKER I'M NOT A WOMAN!" England yelled, steadily growing redder.

"I don't know you look pretty feminine…"

"YOU CAN BLOODY CHECK I'M FAIRLY CONFIDENT THAT I'M MALE!" England screeched, then paled when he realized what he said. "On second thought, don't check."

"Mattie bro a little help over here?!"

"You know he's right, only Francis can check." Canada said in a very good imitation of America's voice, snickering when England started strangling America. The duo made their way out of the room, still actively trying to kill each other. "Countries." Canada clarified at the confused looks getting sent his way. "We like to call England mom sometimes, it always cheers us up to see how mad he gets." He exited the room after finishing going over plans, making his way down to England's room. He cracked it open to see the nation intently staring at an old photograph, eyes swimming with tears, candlelight casting shadows on his features. Canada crept up behind him, for once glad about his near invisibility. It was a photograph from the early 1800's shortly after the camera was invented. Francis and Arthur stood side by side, arms around each other and genuine love in their eyes.

"I'll get back to you my love… even if it takes a century…" Matthew heard Arthur whisper, and backed away, sensing that he should not be intruding on this moment. He opened the door with a loud creak, clearing his throat to catch Arthur's attention and make it look like he had just come in. Arthur jumped and hastily stowed away the photo, turning to face Matthew.

"We leave before dawn." Arthur nodded, eyes hardening to chips of emerald ice and lips curling up into a savage snarl, a face that sent shivers of fear up the other nations spine. It was the face of a man who had destroyed entire civilizations, killed countless people, and was prepared to do it again. All for the one he loved.


	5. Chapter 4

Reunite and tip krauts

The house shook with the tremors of a nearby bomb, and France winced. The Normandy landings were a couple days ago, and he was going insane not being able to fight. He had helped with sabotage and distraction, but oh how he longed to be on the front lines, cleansing the nazis from his land himself. He had set up a temporary hospital for his injured citizens, as casualties were high. He probed his side tenderly where a bullet wound was still healing, even though the injury had been a couple hours ago. France opened his eyes as he heard the roar of gunfire, and grabbed his chauchat as he heard loud footsteps thump to the basement, loading it and settling himself in front of an injured girl, prepared to defend. The door was suddenly kicked down, a loud voice echoing through the room. "GET UP LOSER WE'RE GOIN' KRAUT TIPPIN'!" America yelled, tossing a sniper rifle to France. France did not relax his aggressive stance and pointed the gun at America, who hastily backed up, bumping into figures behind him.

"Oof!"

"What the bloody hell?" The familiar voices made Francis lower his weapon and stand

up, still suspicious.

"Angleterre? Amérique? Canada?" He asked, eyes widening as the figures took off their helmets. "Mon amour…" Francis whispered as he dropped the gun, taking a hesitant step towards Arthur.

"Francis…" Arthur whispered in return, a smile blossoming on his face. He started to say something but was cut off when the Frenchman threw himself onto Arthur, arms around his neck and weeping into his shoulder.

" _Arthur! I thought I would never see you again!"_ He cried, relief clear on his face as he pulled back and caressed Arthur's face tenderly. He turned to Matthew opening his arms for a hug. Matthew rushed into them, holding the older nation tightly.

"Papa…"

"I'm so proud of you, mon fils. You fought bravely, and my people shall 'onor you for it." He praised, brushing hair away from his son's forehead to kiss it lovingly. He turned to Alfred, also wrapping his arms around the American. "Merci Alfred. You are truly a héros." He praised, ruffling the golden hair affectionately. "Eet 'as been so long since I 'ave felt ze warmth of friendship and love."

"So y'all gon help me blow up some Nazis or nah?" America smirked and held up his gun, wincing when England hit him over the head for not using 'the Queen's English, you bloody git!'. Francis grinned and held up his own weapons, a thirst for revenge in his eyes.

"Oui. Ludwig can, as you Americans say, can kiss my ass." he smirked as he adjusted his helmet, getting ready to leave the bunker. A young girl a couple cots back stirred, a groan of pain escaping her lips. Francis was at her side in an instant, placing a cool rag on her forehead and quickly checking the bandages on her leg.

"Papa?" She weakly asked, gripping Francis's hand and looking at him through eyes glazed with pain.

"Oui ma chérie, boire ceci."(drink this) Francis instructed, raising a glass of water to her lips. She took a couple sips and laid back on the cot again, unconsciousness claiming her once again.

"You have a daughter and you never told us?" Canada asked as they were climbing the stairs, hurt and curiosity in his words. Francis glanced back, shaking his head.

"Non, I just don't 'ave ze 'eart to tell 'er zat 'er père was killed by Nazis trois days ago. Be glad zat zis war is not being fought on your lands, mon garçons." England nodded solemnly in agreement, sighing.

"The war has been horrible on all of our citizens. When innocent civilians are harmed it is the worst part of being a nation. If I could I would fight this bloody war personally, but instead we are doomed to live while they die. Ah the curse of an immortal." he reflected bitterly, a rueful smirk twisting at his lips. "Let's go capture your heart, shall we?"


	6. Chapter 5

Ludwig was a mess. August 19, 1944. They had been completely unprepared for the attack on North France by the allies, and on top of that, the damn Frenchman hadn't been responding to his frantic calls for reinforcements, and Ludwig was beyond frustrated. He slammed his head onto the desk, groaning as he surveyed the empty chairs at empty tables where his allies were supposed to sit. They were now near useless, with both Feliciano and Lovino in no fighting condition after Operation Torch, and Kiku busy fighting Alfred's troops in the Pacific. Ludwig had TOLD him that provoking Alfred was a bad idea, but did he listen? No. He had bombed Alfred, and now was paying dearly for it. His own brother had pulled him aside and told him that Prussia would not play a major role in this war. "Ludwig. Hör mir zu." (listen to me) his brother had told him, blood red eyes meeting light blue. "I do not vant to fight in zhis var." Gilbert said solemnly, mouth pressed into a thin line. His snow white hair was peeking out from underneath his cap, and he stood straight, the Prussian cross standing out against the dark blue of his uniform, one hand on his younger brother's shoulder. Ludwig stepped back, shock all over his features.

"Vhat?" He asked, not believing his ears.

"Jou heard me." Prussia repeated, not flinching as his brother towered over him. "I do not approve of zhis var."

"JOU COWARD!" Ludwig screamed, shoving the smaller man away. "JOU SHOULD SUPPORT ME UND NOT VANT TO BACK OUT! HOW DARE JOU SAY ZHAT!"

"HOW DARE I VATCH MEIN BRUDER BLINDLY FOLLOW VHAT HE KNOWS IZ VRONG!" Gilbert screamed back, face coloring the same as his eyes in rage. "Jou see vhat zhat monster of a man iz doing. Vhat he iz doing to innocent people. Jou see how people like me are treated. Jou see how ve have been dragged into anozer var. Ve cannot vin zhis, und ze might of ze Allies vill be horrid vhen zhey do."

"Ve can still vin zhis!" Ludwig protested, slamming a fist into the wall. "Zhe Third Reich vill last a thousand years!" Gilbert shook his head, face twisting at his brother's denial.

"Jou forget zhat jou are still young. History repeats itself, und I have seen zhis happen before. Zhis a var zhat ve cannot vin, nor do I believe zhat ve deserve to. I vill support jou because jou are mein bruder, but know zhat vhen karma comes to collect its debt, I varned jou." The older nation began to walk out of the room, leaving the dumbstruck younger to process this information. That had been about two weeks ago, and even though his support did not falter, Ludwig could feel disapproval radiating out of the red irises with every order Ludwig made.

"Herr Beilschmidt! Die Alliierten!" (Sir Beilschmidt! The Allies) a frantic soldier ran into the office of Francis's parisian mansion, snapping to attention when Ludwig turned his gaze onto him.

"Die Alliierten? Wo?"(Where) Ludwig barked, dread settling in the pit of his stomach as he sprung up, slamming his hands down onto the desk.

"Jawohl. Am rande von Paris."(Yes sir. On the outskirts of Paris) The soldier reported. Ludwig gave the order to drive to where the Allied army was, looking to see how they could attack. Their vehicle was intercepted halfway there and they were forced out by four men, all carrying guns and in helmets, talking in rapid-fire French.

"Vhat iz zhe meaning of zhis? France iz under our control! Vhere iz zhat lazy dummkopf?" Ludwig demanded as they were backed up to the side of the truck. The talking stopped and one of the men laughed, the sound familiar. They spread out, the one who laughed in front, while the others spread out behind him, guns still trained on Ludwig and his driver.

The man who laughed pushed up his helmet, revealing long blonde hair, blue eyes, and pure white teeth exposed in a smirk, standing out against mud and blood stained skin. "Bonjour Allemagne." Francis purred, letting his helmet drop to the ground as he pointed his rifle straight at Germany. The others also removed their helmets, revealing themselves to be England, America, and Canada.

"Jou traitor." Germany hissed at France, who blew him a kiss and giggled, walking closer and closer, his combat boots making tracks in the dust.

"Non. I was never on your side, et you were an idiot to zink I was." France spat, glaring at the Germanic nation. "Paris will be liberated." he waved a hand at the others, who led them away while America threw a grenade at the truck, causing it to explode behind them. "Last chance to surrender my 'eart." France warned, blue eyes icy and tone sharp. "If you do not, I will make ze ground run rouge with rivers of Axis blood." Germany shook his head, refusing to surrender. France's lips twisted in a cruel smirk, and he raised his gun again, pointing it straight at the other's heart. "Pity zat you can't die." he sneered, before giving the order to fire.

~Six days later, August 25~

"VIVE LA FRANCE!" Francis screamed from the top of the eiffel tower, clutching to the iron pole at the top, waving his flag in the air, watching as the streets of his heart erupted in cheers, the call echoing around as the streets swarmed with a sea of red, white, and blue. Calls of vive l'Amerique along with Canada and Angleterre were also heard, the citizens of France celebrating the end of Nazi reign over them. Francis looked at the sun setting over the skyline of his home, heart swelling with pride before jumping off the top, landing like a cat at the base, immediately buried by a bear hug by the ones he loved.

"Vive la France! Viva la France!" America and Canada both cheered, dancing around, waving little French flags in their hands. England released France and kissed him furiously, Francis dipping his lover low to the ground until Arthur's head nearly touched the concrete, the celebrations raging around them. France had been liberated from Nazi control.


End file.
